


Revelations of the Ineffable

by idigam



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Camp Nanowrimo, Cybernetics, Fan Set, Gods, Mirrodin | New Phyrexia, Theros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 12:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19701292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idigam/pseuds/idigam
Summary: What could cause an ancient nine thousand year old horror to break it's exile and start up chaos on Theros?





	Revelations of the Ineffable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gates shall open and the devourer will pour forth in it’s multitudes.
> 
> -Prophecy of Oil, Verse of Abbadon

Prologue: Beast Within

Garruk pants with exertion, another of the vicious creatures falling before his ax, there was no end to them. He can feel the Chain Veil’s power, its curse pulsing in his veins, the eldrazi horrors attacking him are endless, born from Innistrad’s native life. A feral, mangy looking wolf attacks another of the spawn bringing it down, ironic that Garruk’s companions are protected by the Veil’s curse. He dispatches another one, bringing it down hard. There is calm and the Veil curse pulses in his veins like an infected wound, all angry, throbbing warmth. Looking up he scowls; five more eldrazi spawn emerge from the underbrush, a former pack of werewolves, the last of his wolves falls to their thorny tendrils and slavering jaws. Garruk braces against his ax, ready to die, wondering if the Veil curse would let him rest or if he’d just be driven on wards, ever and always. His flesh rotting like one of Liliana’s ghouls.

The air shifts, and a deep resonant tone echoes through the forest the were-spawn freeze mid-step, at first it seems as if they are merely alert to this new threat. Then Garruk notices they do not breathe, more to the point the leaves falling from the trees have stopped in the air. The whole world looks as though it’s trapped in amber. Garruk catches his breath, grateful, angry, and unsure, for once not able to rely on instinct. “You seemed to be in need of assistance,” the voice is old and weathered. A bright flash of light engulfs the Eldrazi horrors and leaves only their malformed shadows burned into the ground.

Garruk turns to face the newcomer, they are old, their face is weathered and craggy, tanned by travel, androgynous, framed by white hair. They wear clothing of a style Garruk does not recognize. A planeswalker most likely then. “My quarry, you had no right to interfere,” Garruk snarls angry and brace’s his ax at the ready. The stranger’s face holds no hint of emotion, Garruk growls, ready to add a new trophy to his collection. “Shall I summon more of them here then Garruk?”

Now he smiles it would seem Jace hasn’t learned his lesson about hirelings. Well it doesn’t matter, a new trophy from this one then he’ll take his grievances to the little mind mage himself. He brings the blade down and the world jumps, the metal shaft of an enormous pendulum like weapon is driven into his stomach knocking the air from his lungs. “The Veil curse makes you strong, but only in the immediate. It eats away at your body, and weakens you overall. A terribly pity honestly.”

Garruk snarls and prepares to dive at the walker, “I am not weak, the Veil’s power will be mine!” The stranger looks at him impassively, “perhaps, but not until your flesh is made to handle it’s power you are nothing. A whelp and no more.” The stranger then looks thoughtful. “I wonder, would you like to be made stronger. That your body may be allowed to contain the Veil’s power.” Garruk’s expression shifts to wary, “what do you mean?”

The stranger’s face shifts into an expression that could be called a smile but looks more like the painting of a smile. A convincing fake, one that anyone could point at and say, yes that’s a smile, but couldn’t tell you why it was off, why they’d have a hard time actually calling it a smile. Garruk knows, the body language, the tone, it’s all flat, beasts can recognize this. This stranger is more like a doll than a person. “The Veil curse has done a number on your body, but it’s already brought you halfway to being made whole. We can make you whole, make you well. You can be allowed to fully use the power you’ve been afflicted with. If your body is made able to accommodate it.”

The stranger holds out their hand; “what do you say Garruk. Shall we make you whole? Make the Veil’s power your own?” Garruk wanted to kill the stranger, wanted to take their head, but they’re strong, stronger than he is now, or at least better prepared. Garruk takes the hand nodding warily. The stranger smiles and they are both brought to a new world. Garruk winces as the eternities push down on him from all directions. Then it’s over, they’re on a new plane, in a fetid marsh with sickly oily water, smog choking the air. Worse, the trees are not merely trees. No they’re metal copper piping twisting through trunks, made as much of verdigrised metal as bark. The place smells wrong, feels wrong, he reaches out with his senses, it’s how he knows the beast is there.

The beast erupts from the ground closing it’s massive jaws around Garruk’s body, he tries to command it. To push his will into it, but it resists him, it belongs to something else, to the stranger? No, it feels similar to it but not the same. Dark mana courses through it, green and black, darkness engulfs him as the beast swallows. He lets out a wordless call of fury before darkness claims him…

Antero looks down at the ax in front of it, the illusion falls away revealing the thing underneath. An ancient horror, leathery hide stretched over metal pips, tubes, and cables. Rods and servos and mechadendrites writhing beneath it performing complex functions, channeling the power in his Spark Engine. He watches the beast stalk off. Garruk’s resistance will make finishing him take much longer than if he’d accepted his Evolution, but it matters not, the beast is more than equipped to finish the job. It picks up the ax, an excellent base, with what it had learned from Tezzeret it would seem that Bolas is finally moving. Preparing his great scheme to regain his power, for as clever as the dragon thinks he is Antero is unimpressed.

The plan is too complex, has too many moving parts, and too much risk. No Bolas will fail, but that is inevitable. The real boon his plan offers is distraction, Antero lets it’s Etherium claw run delicately over the ax blade. Bolas had hired it to deal with Garruk so he does not interfere with the plan, Antero had taken a tithe of lazotep in exchange. It creates a new disguise, a vedalkan woman, then it Walks…

****

Tezzeret sits in the office of the Grand Consul, his new position, but one only gained at the sufferance of Nicol Bolas. He scowls, the fair will commence soon enough, he will be forced to leave having completed his mission. His position of authority just another symbol of his gease. The air shifts and a Vedalkan stands before him. “Garruk has been handled,” she says empty of inflection. Tezzeret nods, “not dead I hope.” She smiles, it unnerves him, “no, I want my payment intact.” Tezzeret takes her to the bowles of the Ghirapur Consulate, there a crate of lazotep awaits. She inspects it, Tezzeret pulls out a blade, she pulls out a small handheld object one Tezzeret has seen, not many worlds possess guns, but she clearly has been to one that does. “Do not attempt to betray me Tezzeret, Bolas will not be able to stay my wrath if you do.”

She has spoken both too and of the old dragon, she shows no deference to him. He found it amusing since it enraged Bolas to no end to have to rely on her. He holds up his hands, “merely doing as I was instructed.” She nods. I will take my payment and leave then Tezzeret, the box is gone, only a small disk made of shining chrome is in it’s place. Tezzeret picks it up. He has his own deal with her, Nicol Bolas may have most of his mind under his command, making the artificer subservient to him, but not all of it. Not thanks to the vedalkan; of course he doesn’t trust her. Trust does not exist in his world.

Bolas will fail, those were the words she’d said to him, at the time, as they do now, they seem so very very unlikely. But if she’s right if that conviction isn’t misplaced, then that gives him an opportunity. One he is fully ready to take advantage of.

****

Antero leaves Kaladesh behind and enters a new plane, a secret temple devoted to a hidden god. The priests bow to it as it makes its way to the grand sepulcher. A youth is tied to the alter, Antero watches dispassionately as a knife is driven through the terrified boy’s chest. The whole congregation murmuring in religious ecstasy at the sacrifice. Antero does not care, but this is when the god communicates with his followers.

_Ah it returns to us then?_ The whisper soft as the rustling of an unkindness of ravens settling. Antero watches the proceedings, “And?” The god laughs, he finds Antero’s lack of respect humorous. It does not matter only one god has held Antero’s true esteem and no matter how potent the gods of Theros are they are nothing before the one Antero serves, the one who’s voice was lost to it, still that god’s aims are the only thing Antero has left to go on. The last bedrock in an unstable world.

_Oh little monster, yes your prophecy has taken, the skeins of time were manipulated and already the oracles are tossing and turning. Impressive I must say_ _though_ _folding time as you did_ _is exceedingly_ _dangerous._ Antero nods, “Yes, but mere information carries less risk, and a prophecy is meant to happen, the circuit is closed, your domains and this world are not at risk, do not be concerned.” The pressure in the temple changes and two more gods join them in this secret chamber.

_Already Meletis is gripped with nightmares, Keranos and Kruphix’s servants are in a panic._ Ephara’s voice is far more melodic than the rustling whisper of Phenax. The next to speak is not a conspiratorial whisper, nor the chime-like bustling words of the Goddess of the Polis, Atheros’ voice is a dull tone, like a funeral bell. _I mislike this abuse of my position._ Antero acknowledges the god’s concern, “is it better to allow titans and souls to slip your grasp when ordered by Erebos or Heliod?” Atheros is silent at this.

After a moment Atheros speaks again, _the one you have requested is on it’s way to the surface. It will breach_ _in as you have designed_ _._ Antero nods, “I have already created it’s swarm, where will it emerge?” The air is thick with tension, _the fields of_ _Oreskos._

****

The gates of the underworld are not barred, but they are held back by the tides of the five rivers, the demon was granted the means to escape, a golden mask to hide it’s face. It clings to Atheros’ trailing robe. It’s gaunt and hungry looking, it’s voice is the empty voice of the wicked dead, it’s mask is gleaming with four horns, each pair coiling around each other forming something like branches. Soon enough they reach the other side of the rivers the world of the living is a literal step away. It launches itself forward. Eager to take flight, to unleash the swarms it was promised, to bring famine and plague and war upon the land.

****

Antero waits for the demon to arrive, the remote region of Oreskos cracks, the Leonin fighters are making a skirmish to the far west, in the planes of Akros, their leaders are negotiating peace talks with the village elders. Ajani was called off world. Antero can feel it, the air is changing, soon the War of the Spark will begin and it will make it’s move. Soon the multiverse, in the midst of the celebration of Bolas’ demise will rejoice again, rejoice _His_ return. The ground opens and the demon Abbadon rises into the air on great and terrible wings, the foliage of the trees around them stirs, a deep base thrum vibrating the world.

The demon looks at Antero, “are you here to make a bargain?” Antero shrugs, “I am here to offer you a legion for your quest to devour the world dark one.” Abbadon looks around, noticing the leaves on the trees around them and then cackles with mad glee. “Oh yes I like this, what do you want in exchange strange mortal?” Antero holds out it’s Etherium claw, “only for you to hold still.”

The demon suspicious ultimately acquiesces, Antero channels mana into the claw tip and carves a symbol in the forehead. A circle with a single line bisecting it. “Go now Abbadon, devourer and first sign of the Revelations to come. Go with the blessings of the gods, devour, destroy, dance, and revel and enjoy yourself.”

Abbadon soars upwards into the air and with it a cloud of locusts erupts surrounding it and flying off towards the rich fertile fields of Oreskos, the game and the crops soon to be devoured. Behind them an empty barren glade of bare trees. A terrible price the leonin will pay. A monster to humble them for their rejection of the gods is what the priests will eventually say. The humans and satyrs and centaurs of Theros will tut and click their tongues and say what a regrettable shame it was. They will become enraged that their own people and farmland is ravaged for the hubris of the leonin. Already the demon is wheeling in the air as the locust descend on a herd of deer.

****

The temple of Kruphix is a place of contemplation, that the mysteries of the world, and now the worlds beyond Theros, may be contemplated. Today however, the priests of Heliod are meeting with the elders of the leonin, trying to negotiate an end to the war. Another has slipped in unseen by the congregation. “You leonin heretics will bring ruin to us all!” an elder on a pilgrimage from Nykthos shouts, the leonin growls. “Any god that slays their loyal champions and coerces worship is deserving of neither.” The priest puffs up but before he can say anything the incense takes on a foul note, the leonin sniff the air. They wipe the tears from their eyes. A priest vomits in the corner, and collapses, within minutes the peace talks have devolved into convulsions and gasping attempts to call for help.

Eventually they still, their last breaths leaving their bodies, the assassin steps out of the shadows and checks them. The mask protecting her from the toxin. Several had soiled themselves in their death throes. In the vaulted ceilings above the assassin Kruphix watches; _Doom, you have wrought doom upon us, why have you come here? Why have you done such a disruption?_ The assassin looks upwards, the large round bug-like eyes of her mask impassive, the long vented nose and heavy lacquered leather hood giving her a disturbing alien appearance. “Because the oracles dreamed it, because the prophecy requires it.”

She turns and strides out, leaving the bodies to rot letting, the guards are coming after all and soon she will be needed in Nykthos. The brand of her new allegiance throbs slightly, Antero is calling her, she will go.

****

Darkness, a darkness so complete that nothing can be seen, nothing can be heard, and nothing can be smelled, tasted, or felt. This is the darkness that Garruk finds himself in. Is he dead, he wonders this because there is no life here, his senses deprived of him. Fear grips him and he decides that if his instincts are such then he must be alive. If he is alive there is an escape. The darkness inside the beast is so utterly cloying that he can only remember. He remembers all things, he remembers his first hunt, his companion beasts. He remembers stalking and hunting Liliana for her callous murder of his companion. He remembers the curse searing through him, the hate of it. He remembers hunting her, trying to kill her. He remembers the intervention of Jace, he hates Jace. He remembers the two planeswalkers who’s heads he took. He remembers the deaths he inflicted, he remembers hunting others. The cursemute which almost cured him, the return of the Veil’s power.

He remembers Liliana escaping him again, he remembers the clammy touch of her ghouls on his skin. He remembers when he decided to embrace the curse. Suddenly the power of the Veil curse is in him again, burning like a brand in his skin, suffusing him, this is pain, exquisite agony that reminds him he’s alive. Welcome after the crushing nothing. He can feel it changing him.

His arms rotting away only to build up from bone, unnecessary weakness being burned out of him. His helm rotting away, bone growths push out to replace it. Fur grows from him, the pelts of his beasts becoming one with him. He skin rots, his chest being covered in metal. His organs rotting away, replaced by cable, by tubing, by wire, his ferocity and wildness suffusing the new metal of his form. Weak flesh replaced by unyielding metal, rigid metal compensated by malleable and adaptable flesh.

Garruk screams, it’s painful, it’s terrible, it’s robbing him of what he was. Garruk whoops and rejoices, he is being made more, evolution of generations happening in, how long is it? Weeks? Months? Time is meaningless in the void. All he knows is his body is changing in ways not meant to be experienced by a single being, the changes of a species the honing of an apex predator all fro him and him alone. It’s a gift, the Veil’s power is his now, the curse has made him whole, now he is here, awake, alive, and terribly, horribly hungry.

Then his mind whispers that he is surrounded by flesh, by a thing to consume, but, the beast is pack, it is as he, and he is one with them now. The beast was made to change him, it has nearly finished the process. For it to fulfill it’s role it must be devoured, if he does not his spark will sputter out, consumed by his newly formed heartstone. So he does it.

He eats, he consumes, the creature ate him, now he returns the act. He gnaws and gnashes with his new fangs. He bursts forth in the daylight shocking a number of other beasts he rips flesh from metal he devours bone and ceramic when the flesh is gone. Antero watches his rebirth with grim satisfaction.

The beast fulfilled its role, it died, he has been changed, made better, made faster, stronger, made with greater stealth, his feral cunning honed into a terrible tactical genius aimed towards the hunt. Garruk roars, it’s a roar that echoes through the swarm around him. He has been reborn, made whole, he is now compleat.

**Author's Note:**

> Done for Camp Nanowrimo, this is a fanset I've wanted to do for a while, each chapter is based on the cards in it.


End file.
